"This morning, François ..." and he assumed a manner so emphatic and comical, that Helen did all she could to make him desist: "Let me go on," he whispered, "and when there is anything that you wish to be made known or particularly remarked, merely give me a sign."
Helen, ashamed, pretended not to understand him, but yet could not keep from laughing. It may easily be imagined that she lost all desire of speaking of François during that evening, and from that moment, the Abbé, as he had told her, assumed the part of trumpeter. As soon as she opened her lips to insinuate anything to her own advantage, he immediately caught the word, and broke forth into a pompous panegyric. If her movements indicated any desire of attracting attention, "Look!" he would say, "what grace Mademoiselle Helen displays in all her movements." If she uttered a loud and forced laugh, "I beg you will observe," he said to every one, "How gay Mademoiselle Helen is to-day:" then he would afterwards approach her and whisper, "Have I fulfilled my functions properly? I shall do better another time," he would add, "but you do not give me notice, and I can only speak of what I perceive," and nothing escaped him; still there was mixed up with all this, something so comic, and at the same time so kind, that Helen, at once annoyed, embarrassed, and obliged to laugh, insensibly corrected herself, as well from her dread of the Abbé's remarks, as from his presenting her affected manners in a light so ridiculous, that she could not help being herself struck by their absurdity.
She has at last succeeded in entirely correcting herself of them, and she endeavours to gratify her self-love by more substantial and reasonable pleasures, than that of having people observing her at every moment of the day, and of directing attention to her most insignificant actions. She acknowledges that she owes this change to the Abbé Rivière, and says, that if all the young girls who feel disposed to give themselves affected airs, had, in like manner, an Abbé Rivière at their side, to show them, at each repetition of them, the impression which they produce on those who witness them, they would not long take the trouble of making themselves ridiculous.
ARMAND;
OR THE INDEPENDENT LITTLE BOY.
M. de Saint Marsin, on entering one day into the apartment of his son Armand, found him in a violent passion, and heard him say to his tutor, the Abbé Durand, "Very well! Of course I shall obey you; I must do so, because you are the strongest, but I can tell you that I do not recognise your right to compel me, and I shall hate you as unjust, and a tyrant."
After this speech, on turning round with a movement of irritability, he perceived his father standing at the door, which he had found open, and looking at him with a calm and attentive countenance. Armand turned pale, then blushed; he feared and respected his father, who, though exceedingly kind, had something very imposing both in countenance and manner, so that he had never dared to resist him directly, or put himself in a passion in his presence. Dismayed, and with downcast eyes, he awaited what M. de Saint Marsin was going to say; when the latter, having entered, sat down near the table, upon which Armand had been writing, and which formed the subject of his quarrel, for the Abbé Durand had insisted on his removing from the window, as it diverted his attention from his work.